


Epsilon [DreamTeam Fanfic]

by Jejune_Aberration



Category: GeorgeNotFound - Fandom, Minecraft - Fandom, Sapnap - Fandom, Sci-Fi - Fandom, dream - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Monsters, Alternate Universe - Powers, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Alternate Universe except it’s sci-fi, AlternateUniverse, Angst, Be ready for some deaths, Dreamteam for the win, F/M, Idk man I’m new here, M/M, Uhhhh hi everyone, and blood, and other stuff like that, sciencefiction, uhhhhh idk
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:35:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27983172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jejune_Aberration/pseuds/Jejune_Aberration
Summary: It didn't happen at night, as everyone else would’ve believed. The first case landed in Canada. The Albertans were wiped out when it fell. Now, it is ruling the world, turning it into a dark, muddled void of danger, the only safe place being behind the black walls that were constructed by a force stronger than nature. That day’s title was debated over by the remaining survivors, some being Judgement Day, Hell’s Gate, Doom—Unfortunately, none fit the horrors that the day brought. After that, everyone’s mind had unanimously and silently decided its name. Maybe it was a grim fate.Whatever it was, everyone couldn’t alter it, and it was obvious that their fate was set. It was tearing them apart from both outside and inside.The Calamity was going to kill them all.
Relationships: Dream/GeorgeNotFound
Comments: 4
Kudos: 7





	1. Cruel

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone! This is my first work, so please be nice hehe...

The night rustled, its hands claiming the world a delirious game. A gamble of life, Russian Roulette. People became nothing but a shadow, hiding secrets from even their immediate comrades. The blackness enabled them to reveal the darkest of their secrets without the trepidation of being caught, and they roamed the streets. 

A peaceful evening like today was almost impossible to fathom without the sounds of gunshots jerking George from his slumber, heart palpitating, blood roaring. The fear that clamped over his stomach was a constant parasite. Terror was his sole emotion, other than the desperate longing for safety. As he curled up in the locked room’s adamant floor, his mind was nothing but the stillness of his body. He realised: quiet was just as loud as gunshots when the silence was never conscious. Standing cautiously, he stole to the window, watching the moon illuminate the lands below dove silver.  


Full moons were always undisturbed. The first one George encountered was unsettling, the tranquility ominous, but he managed to enjoy it once he noticed the soundlessness meant protection. The bright sky, cast over by moonlight, meant no one could commit crimes without being seen, and the agitation of being caught would meddle with their movements, turning them sluggish and slow. And after the morning arises, they would be exiled from the Village. Letting out a soft sigh, George let his mind amble. It was ironic how this little group could be allies during daytime but cruel back-stabbers at nighttime. Luckily, he and his best friend, Nick, were safe. They had unspoken rules between them: never take sides in an argument, never have a strong opinion on something, and give up anything when someone asks. 

To break those silent laws meant certain death.

“George?” A voice breathed. George flinched. Due to the suffocating stillness, the voice seemed like it was yelling rather than the soft whisper of the word uttered. 

“Sorry, did I wake you up?” George answered. 

“No, I was awake before. The quiet really messes with my sleep,” Nick replied. George could hear the small smile in his voice, but his joke wasn’t necessarily false. Most full moons, George realised, he would be pulled from sleep by the deafening silence. Both males had no more to say, relishing the evanescent safety currently present. 

It wasn’t much, but they’d take it, gratefully. 

Nick soon joined George at the windowsill, both of them focusing into the distance at the same point, deciding to ignore the black hunches prowling the streets below. “It’s still pretty far,” Nick notes, his eyes unwavering. 

“We’re a lot closer to it than when we started though.” George measured the dark barrier on the horizon. It was barely visible, but he could just slightly make it out from the skyline. Fumbling with a small, sheathed blade in his pocket, George’s fingers coiled around what he was looking for, a dark pen, and made a mark on his thumb. His nail touched the top of the blockade and the drawn line was where the ground started. It was a bit below the last one—or in other words, they were closer. George couldn’t tell how much more they needed to move. But what he could see was they were making progress. 

Nick glanced at George’s measurements, taking in how the lines had dropped from the first one by almost half an inch. 

“True,” Nick flashed a grin, but it was gone as soon as it came. It still gave him minor reassurance that his friend hadn’t lost his smile as he had.  


George turned back to the window, before getting bored of the view where darkness veiled the broken sight. “We should get some sleep. I think Techno is gonna make us get on the move again.” 

Nick hummed, nodding, eyes starting to slide close. The two found another place on the floor, George using his jacket as a pillow. His eyes wandered over the room, which looked as if it used to be an office space. It was carpeted slightly, with a few chairs scattered around, a table in the corner along with a bookshelf. As he slowly fell asleep, George’s eyes landed on a portrait on the wall, reminding him about a time much different than this. Cold found its way into his body, but soon, slumber overpowered it and he fell asleep. This time, the moonlit halcyon evening let George rest. 

_ _ _ 

George opened his eyes to bits of golden, minty morning light. As he sat up, he rubbed the sleep from his eyes and turned them to his sleeping friend. Squinting his eyes against the light, he checked the world outside. Light had made the room less sorrowful, but George carefully averted his eyes away from the picture tacked up that had soothed him to sleep last night. The sun’s rays were slightly above black walls, meaning it was about seven. Back when it hadn’t happened, George would sleep until noon, but something about his sleeping habits had changed since the Calamity.  


Maybe it was the awareness of awaiting danger ahead. 

Whatever it was, it seemed like Nick hadn’t picked up on it yet. “Nick.” George shook his friend’s shoulder, attempting to wake him up. “Nick, wake up.”  


Groaning, Nick opened an eye, running a hand through his hair before closing his eye again. “Too bright. Time to sleep,” he muttered. George smothered a silent laugh. The two had met a few weeks ago when the Village had found George, half-dead, laying on a broken road, monsters swarming him. Soon after, the duo had found chemistry between each other. 

“Dude, wake up. Or I’ll leave you behind,” George joked, but that seemed to do the trick. 

“Okay, okay, I’m up, jeez,” Nick sat up. He looked around, before deflating, quietly whispering, “Not a dream then…” George pretended he couldn’t hear his friend’s statement, not knowing how to reply to it if he did. He related in more ways than one to the statement, but he knew reminiscing about those fantasies were dangerous. It didn't stop his chest from hurting, though. For the past three weeks, he’d been like George’s little brother and best friend.  


“C’mon, Sapnap,” George referred to his friend by his nickname. In a world as perilous as now, codenames were necessary if someone had a person who loathed them. George and Nick didn't have enemies (of what they knew of), but Nick decided to give himself a nickname as a precaution. George couldn’t think of anything, so he left it as ‘George’. “Let’s see if Techno has anything to say to us.” Technoblade, or just ‘Techno’, was their village leader’s name. He wore a boar-mask to hide his identity, like many others. 

The friends made their way out of the building, politely nodding to the citizens of their Village who were descending as well. George and Nick pushed their way towards the bow of the crowd. The meeting square was placed beside the wrecked, abandoned office building, already filled with young adults and teens, yawning and stretching in the cool morning daze. Chatter had erupted, and soft smiles were evident after the peaceful night. Techno, bearing his half-boar mask on the top of his face, seemed to be counting the citizens, before nodding in satisfaction. How he managed to keep track of everyone was beyond George, but he was thankful to have a leader like Techno. 

“Okay everyone, listen up,” Techno’s deep voice rang through the square, using the Elite to project his voice over the crowd of a few dozen. Stiffening, George turned his eyes to the grim mask, awaiting the report. Every time he instructed them to ‘listen up’, it meant someone was being exiled. _Seriously? Even in a Full Moon?_ George wondered, worriedly. Without preparation or an introduction, Techno had bluntly announced: “Someone will be exiled for murder and alleged robbery.” 

Murmurs exploded. George and Nick shared a glance.

“Everyone, be quiet,” Techno shushed, before gesticulating, “Bring him out.” 

Black-clad Elites wrestled a shaken, disheveled blond man into view from a building next to the sleeping quarters, his face splattered with dried blood, deathly pale. His features would’ve been seen as handsome before the Calamity, but after the unforgiving environment, he was starved and battered until he became only a ghost of someone he used to be. Sunken eyes blazed up, his vicious gaze making George flinch. Luckily, his mutinous glowering was all he could do—the Elites had him in their iron grip. There was no escape, and George felt a pull of pity before, disgustedly, he violently smothered it. _This man killed someone. Don’t feel pity for the murderer._

Techno turned to the infractor, dark eyes a void, infected with ice. 

“Show your face here again, and you’ll regret being born,” Techno uttered, and if George wasn’t in the front row of the crowd, he would have never heard the vehement, bestial words. It wasn’t a whisper, George noted, it was a vindictive roar muffled by dignity. The loathing and savage emotion behind the meaning made a blizzard erupt over his spine, sending cold down to his limbs.

“If I show my face here, it’d be to kill you,” The man snarled in return, loud enough for the crowd to hear, but Techno’s rage was finished. No matter how much the blond tried to coax it back to humiliate the leader, it was in vain. Roaring and writhing as the guards took him away, everyone stared at him with unapologetic eyes. Looking, strenuously, from face to face to find just a drop of empathy, something, anything, he could latch onto, he only came up with empty hands. The form, shrinking in the distance, slumped in defeat. 

“What an embarrassment,” Nick murmured to George, finally, who nodded. _He could’ve had a trial at least,_ his one of his thoughts claimed, but George’s mind knew better. _We have no time for that._ If the world was unrelenting, everyone else in it would be as well. And if the world was ruthless, he’d be too. Cruelty isn’t a personality trait—It’s a habit. And that was exactly what one needed in a world like this.

True to his belief, George observed the killer’s exile with the same, pitiless eyes as everyone else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is appreciated :)


	2. Quarter Moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dream sets up protection around his Village, Iota. 
> 
> The Quarter moon arrives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m not sure about this chapter’s editing yet. I’ll probably come back and change a few things, but for the sake of updating, here you go.

In another world, a June mid-afternoon would’ve been when Dream would play games and vibe with his favourite artist’s voices, cuddling with his cat. He’d converse with friends, snicker at their mistakes in games and never bore the burden of tomorrow’s survival or if he’d lose his Village to betrayal and his own incompetence. Every Exile shredded off a piece of him, the treachery of the miscreant never seemed to leave. Instead, it would accumulate inside of his chest, a weight wrenching his shoulders into a droop and eyes into deep sorrow. 

Iota only had a few more people in it that hadn’t been Exiled or killed yet—Tommyinnit, Tubbo, Wilbur, Eret and Badboyhalo. The handful was loyal to Dream, but it was only a matter of time before he’d lose them as well. Iota had encountered many other Villages; the Southern Section filled to the brim with miniature, scarred groups like Dream’s own. There were clusters of the Exiled, slowly dwindling as they entered other Villages, pretending they weren’t murderers. Dream shuddered.

He wondered who would be the next person to backstab them. 

Pulling off his mask, he stretched, muscles straining. His verdant-green eyes caught on the harsh blue sky, the brightness burning the back of his eyes. Flexing his fingers in the hazy afternoon light, he felt the heat flogging his body, warming his neck, vivid sparks popping from his fingertips. Promptly withdrawing his arm, he frowned, cradling his fist. Little slip-ups like these were beginning to develop more often—Before, he could contain the power’s leaking, but now it was starting to burst at the seams. 

Lazily, his eyes wandered to the tinted glass as Tommy and Tubbo chased each other, laughing. They had taken refuge in a small abandoned house, the rooms barely big enough to fit all six of them, but they managed. The full moon shone today, and Iota needed a safe place to stay or else they would be corpses before dawn arrived. Though they were already past the Core, they had lost a lot of people since then. Dream was worried they’d even make it through the night and it resulted in him outside setting up precautions. 

Dream had Awakened on the first night of the Calamity, his magic powerful enough to blow apart his room from the stress of the dream he had. 

Waking from the nightmare, Dream had found himself in a place worse than the terrifying thoughts in his head. Nothing was as scary as watching your ‘Allies’ die off. Banishments proved to be ineffective against the crimes his group had committed, and the large exodus of the Exiled had left, along with the spirits of the ones killed.

Dream started raising the almost-transparent shield over the garden of the small house, slowly closing it up once it reached the front yard of the house. He glanced back at the house, knowing this was Tommy’s favourite thing to watch (“Soooooo cool!”), and found Tommy’s eyes filled with stars watching his graceful movement. Dream sure did feel cool doing it. 

It was testing time.

The more he used his Elite, the faster the magic came to his fingertips and the more powerful he’d get. It was like a muscle, the more it worked, the better the results. The grip he had on the Elite was strangling, but slowly it was loosening. Dream didn't think much of that, though. Instead, he greedily tore the knot apart and then found himself blazing. 

Throwing a few warm-up electric-bolts, he started to test the malleability of the bubble he was in. He let himself sink into the beauty of the Elite, letting the magic reign his body, blurring his thoughts while simultaneously clearing his vision. It cleansed the worries and anxiety from his mind like indulging a glass of cold water on a musty, sweltering day.

Attacking the force field Dream had put up viciously, his magic started to fatigue, sweat forming from the intense effort. The haze of the day was like cotton pressed against his skin despite his protests. Finally, Dream skidded to a halt, deeming the force field strong enough to withstand the full moon.

_ This is the 3rd one,  _ Dream realised as his chest heaved. Perspiration dripped down his face as he wiped it from his brow, reinforcing the force-field with his remaining strength.  _ Three weeks have passed since the Calamity first struck.  _

Slumping on the cool grass with a huff, his hand groped the ground, fingers searching for his mask as he faced the bright blue sky. His hand met the cool surface and he pulled it on. Blood pounded in his ears, his head spiralling from the sudden movement. Running a hand through his light, coppery hair, he glanced at the younger boy inside with a thumbs up. Tommy replied with a bright grin. 

A door opened, and Wilbur stepped into view. 

“Hey, Wilbur,” Dream salutated, waving a black-gloved hand, 

“Hey Dream,” Wilbur echoed, before adding, “It’s dinner time. Stop gloating your powers and get in here to help cook.” Dream groaned, his muscles feeling like jelly. 

“Do I havvvve tooooo?” Dream drawled, wanting to doze on the grass for the next century and a half. 

“Sometimes I feel like you’re not responsible enough to be the Village leader,” Wilbur sighed, before walking back into the house. After a few stunned seconds, Dream jumped up, grimacing as he walked into the house. He fixed his face before helping Badboyhalo and Eret with the preparation of food, the itch in the back of his mind prowling like a beast. Even though Dream knew it was a joke, he was jolted back to reality by the statement. Anything, even a lighthearted tease, must be taken seriously, even if Dream trusted the older boy with all his heart. Even if he knew Wilbur would give his life to save Iota. Because—he’d learned from experience—anyone could betray anyone. 

Full moons made Dream edgy, his senses peaking. Flinching at every scuttle and creak, he cursed himself for being so nervous. He’d been through this many times before, his first time without precautions. He would be fine.  _ I’ll be fine.  _

Pacing the dark house, his eyes roamed over the last of Iota, sprawled over the couches and beds, soft snoring filling the terse air. Something was evoking his thoughts, every emotion piercing higher than normal. Sitting down at the table next to the room where everyone was sleeping, his knee started to uncontrollable bounce, and he found his teeth nibbling his fingernails. Glancing outside, he watched the moon with worried eyes with:  _ Why am I so scared? _ repeated on loop in his head, as he strung both hands through his dirty-blond hair. 

Dream’s green eyes glimpsed the silvery glow that was cast over the street. Glancing at the position of the moon, Dream guessed it was about midnight, and, yet, he hadn’t slept a wink. He was on the brink of groaning before something moving outside caught his eye. 

A hostile flash of yellow-tinted teeth fluctuated in his gaze, and ferocious, slanted eyes glowered at Dream through the night’s horrors. The blond’s throat captured his breath. This wasn’t the first time he had encountered a creature from the Calamity, but, strangely, this one was a deviant from the norms. Not only was it larger, ghastlier and mightier, the domineering aura it reeked fed Dream’s fear.

The monster outside was unmoving, saliva oozing down its chin from protruding sharp fangs, its nose twitching. Sheer brown fur glistened in the black night, its hefty talons gripping the concrete with enough force that the ground underneath cracked open. Lithe body was curled into an offensive position, eager to pounce. Twin tails cracked through the air, quick enough for Dream to hear the whip from where he sat at the table. His chest was constricted as he tried not to breathe. He counted in his mind. 

One.

Two.

Three—

It exploded forwards, pounds of muscle and meat smashing against his barrier with enough rancor to make the translucent surface ripple. Dream’s body immediately recoiled, almost slipping out of his chair.  _ Even in the full moons before, they weren’t—  _ A shrieking of its long talons against Dream’s protection trilled through the air, the shrill sound penetrating the overwhelming silence. Dream flinched once more, his arm gripping the table. He felt a tug in his head, something telling him: This is wrong. This is  _ very  _ wrong. His eye caught on something shimmering in the defiant shield. 

A crack.

The boy sprung up, his eyes widening, his muscles clenching.  _ There’s no way.  _ He had tested it before with all his strength, and all it took was two lunges and the monster could break through? He raised a hand, allowing his magic to channel into the crack, repairing it. It slowly merged, until the monster jumped at it again. This time, because it was softened to be mended, the jagged line burst heftier. It was no use—the more he tried to fix it, the bigger the cracks reached. The monster kept relentlessly slamming into the shield, the fractures growing every second.  _ Oh no…  _ Dream scrambled into the room where his Village rested. Blood pounded in his head, horrid visions of their dead bodies swam across his vision, panic seducing his senses. 

“Wake up! Wake up, we need to move!” Dream yelled at the sleeping forms. To where, he had no idea, but he knew they needed to be awake to fight. He shook Tommy and Tubbo, wrenched Badboyhalo’s arm and yelled at Eret and Wilbur. “Wake up!” His village slowly sat up with musty eyes, looking confused at their frantic leader, yawning casually. Once everyone was mostly awake, Dream stood in the middle of the room, reproachful eyes watching him pace anxiously.

“It’s too early to eat breakfast, Dream.” Tommy rubbed his eyes as he stretched, finally conscious. 

Dream tried to calm himself as much as possible for his words to be coherent. “Okay everyone, listen to me, this is urgent. I’m gonna cut straight to the chase, today’s full moon is freakishly powerful and a creature made a crack in my force—”

“What?” Badboyhalo’s head whipped towards the outside, where slit-yellow eyes menaced back, preparing for another hit. The force field bore a starburst of cracks where the monster crashed through, snarling. “No way. What are we supposed to do?” Dream pushed his fingers through his hair, distressed. 

“I don’t know! Find higher ground! Hide? Something!” Dream panicked before sparks erupted from his hands. The mistake seemed to completely wake everyone, worry lacing their gazes as their usually composed commander suddenly became fervent. Dream’s mind raced, thoughts running through a filter, trying to find a plan where no one would get hurt. Nothing was coming to mind.

“Dream, what are we gonna do?” Tubbo tugged at his nails, teeth worrying away. Dream furrowed his brow, sweat trickling down the back of his neck. The air was still hot, but much less than before and he really needed to stop focusing on things that didn't matter, but everything seemed to take his attention. The gleaming of the force field that was there before, Dream just hadn’t noticed, the greyness that had taken over the white walls due to the darkness of the night, how his fingers were burning, how his hair kept falling into his eyes, how his body was itchy all over and—!

“Dream,” Badboyhalo’s voice reached him, a bright lighthouse in the distance, overtaken by the fog of the storm. “Calm down, take your time—”

“Bad!” Dream exclaimed, realization striking. “That’s exactly what—nevermind. Everyone, get in the attic.” Badboyhalo looked perplexed at the change of emotion, but Dream had already started on his instructions, directing his Village towards a ladder near the kitchen’s refrigerator. The tiled room was small and barely fit everyone inside, the counter taking up most of the space. “Wilbur, you go first,” Dream called, “Tommy, Tubbo, you two next. Bad and Eret, you guys go last and make sure to close the door behind you, and don’t open it— _ no matter what. _ ” Dream supervised as Wilbur helped the two youngest boys up. Bad clambered into the darkness above. 

“Wait, what about you?” Eret asked, frowning, looking back as he climbed. Dream’s stomach jumped, filled with anticipation and terror.

“Don’t worry about me,” Dream stated, simply, making sure everyone was up the ladder before stepping back.

“Where are you going?” Tommy asked from the top, his blue eyes curious. Dream pulled his hood over his dirty blond hair, ignoring Tommy’s question. “Dream, listen! Where are you going?” Genuine worry was in his voice, but when Dream turned back, his face was a statue. 

“Eret,” Dream’s voice was adamant, final.  _ All I need is to pass the night. Just a few hours, and we’ll all be safe.  _ Eret’s lips were pressed into a thin line, but the brunette closed the trapdoor, despite their own disquiet. Before the door shut completely, Dream heard a small: ‘Don’t be reckless’. A small, bitter smile flitted across Dream’s face.

Dream was about to do exactly the opposite. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is always appreciated :)


End file.
